


Paranoia

by Seiberwing



Category: Gyakuten Kenji | Ace Attorney Investigations: Miles Edgeworth, Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seiberwing/pseuds/Seiberwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old cop and a young cop share a brief moment of loneliness in a crime-ridden world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paranoia

Shi-Long Lang hasn’t changed much since the last time we met. His wheat-colored hair’s the same length, his eyes still have that fierce sharp slant to them, and he’s still a complete punk. 

We spend his first day in America up at his hotel room comparing my old files and what Lang’s been able to collect abroad. We shuffle papers around, shoot theories back and forth. Lang pushes for someone in the business world and I keep coming back to the embassy. He asks me if I’m fixated. I ask him if he’s blind. He says Amano’s easier to get to. I don’t tell him that I already know how to get inside.

I leave the hotel around six thirty, sneaking out the back door. The sky’s a soft grey to match the dull concrete of the rear parking lot and the dull apathy that’s become my default mood. Hunger’s nibbling at my stomach but it’s not strong enough to make me do anything about it. I lean against the cement wall and look myself over with my handmirror, then tilt it so I can check for watchers peering around the corners.

My hourly ritual completed, I swap the mirror out for the tin flask in my coat pocket. I’ve been hitting the bottle hard since the Interpol circus came to town. The stuff’s probably bad for me but it gives me a tiny kick as distraction from the shit I have to deal with every day. It’s a small vice in return for not going insane. I take a swig from the flask, hold it in my mouth and savor the taste. The drink’s strong enough to make my teeth ache and I like it that way. My head falls back to rest against the rough wall as I let my shoulders relax for the first time that day. Figuring the ring out is hard enough without the double duty of constantly holding back information I’m not supposed to know or faking my sources.

A stray cat with mottled orange fur slips out of the trees to inspect the dumpster at the far end of the back lot. I watch it idly, finding a moment’s peace in something too simple and detached to pose a threat.

It’d be nice to trust Lang, I think to myself. He seems like an honorable guy. But I don’t trust anyone these days, not since Callisto Yew, and I never leave my mirror at home. Paranoia doesn’t make you sleep well but it’s better than sleeping forever. They know where I live and they’ve got claws that stretch all the way to the courthouse.

There’s a metal ‘clunk’ from the back door as someone shoves down the knob. We freeze, me and the cat, and it flees as Shi-Long Lang steps out. The guy looks as tired as I feel. His entourage is missing for once, thank god, I’d have gone off with the cat if he brought that mob of boot-lickers out with him.

“Detective Badd,” he says, looking at me with surprise. “I thought you’d gone home.” His accent’s thinned out since seven years ago, probably a consequence of all that country-hopping he’s been doing over the years, but it’s still clear Zheng Fan.

“I was thinking about it.” I see his eyes go to my flask and idly offer it to him. He shakes his head but a moment’s pause belies his desires.

“I don’t drink on duty,” he says.

“You’re not on duty right now.”

“Lang Zi says, ‘A wolf does not stop the chase halfway through’. I’m on duty until this case is finished.” On duty and still full of that Interpol pride, but he hasn't used the front door and he's in no hurry to leave my company in search of better prey.

“Fine by me.” My next drink is as slow as my first, letting him get an eyeful of how little I care. He huffs. I swallow and wonder if we're out here for the same reasons. “You never shut off, do you?” I ask idly, swirling what little is left in the flask.

“Shut off?”

“You’re on duty whether you’ve got a case or not.” I look towards the parking lot and sight on a lone dark-haired man walking through the parking lot. His clothes are khaki business casual, his glasses are small, he’s unremarkable. “That guy,” I say, jerking my head at the wanderer. “What do you think about him?”

Lang's head snaps to the side, sharp as a hunting dog. “He’s walking quickly and nervously," he rattles off. "That bag in his hand is important to him and he clutches it as if someone is planning to take it away. It might not be his, or perhaps it contains some illicit substance.” The man stops and fumbles for his keys, and I watch Lang’s posture tense. “And he is interested in a quick escape. If you suspect him of something we should grab him now.”

I chuckle and toy with my mirror again. “Never seen him in my life, no idea who he is.”

Lang looks at me, confused. “Then why did you ask?”

“You never shut off,” I say, angling my mirror to watch the light dawn on the Interpol upstart. “You’ve spent so much time chasing down goons and thugs that you see them everywhere. Even the most innocent acts look like a cover for darker ones, every guy going into his pocket for a cigarette’s about to pull a gun on you. It’s not a healthy way to live.”

Lang laughs, giving me a good view of his pointed canines. They’re sharp, almost freakishly so, like some of that special Lang blood got mixed up with a vampire way back in his lineage or he’s really a werewolf like the boys keep whispering about. It reminds me of this guy I used to know, back when I had more free time on my hands.

Damn. Haven’t thought about Tiger in a while. Lang would be pissed if he even thought I was trying to compare them. Where Lang’s a blond paragon of justice, Tiger was dark, broad-shouldered and tanned all the way up to the gang tattoos around his shoulders. I knew he was a complete scumbag from the moment I bought him a drink, but it didn’t matter—told him up front that I was a cop and he didn’t care either. We didn’t get together to discuss politics. I heard he got collared for murder last year, poisoning some guy who owed him money. Surprised me, I always thought he’d go down swinging and shooting and snarling. Maybe that was just the murder they caught him on.

Thinking about Tiger makes me even more twitchy. It’s been years since I’ve been with anybody, teeth or no teeth. Nearly everyone is too young, too straight, or just plain scared to get involved with a guy like me…if I’m even capable of getting involved anymore. I might not be able to put the mirror and the gun down long enough.

When was the last time Lang let his guard down, I wonder.

“So how do American officers switch off, Detective Badd?” Lang asks, butting into my silent moping. “Or do they never switch on at all?”

I’m no patriot. “Some don’t. Some switch off the moment they take off their uniform and go out with their friends. Some gamble, or drink, or watch football…some go home to their ladies. You got a girlfriend, Lang?”

“I have my men and I have my duty.” Lang laughs, his tongue flicking one of his canines before he closes his mouth. Tiger had that little tic too, when something amused him...or right before he sank his teeth into my neck. He was scum but he knew how to make a guy hurt in all the right ways. “Maybe later, but right now, I don’t need the distraction.”

Zheng Fa’s not exactly liberal, and for a moment I wonder if he’s covering up a lack of interest with a lack of interest. But I clench my jaw and look up again to the concrete sky—the kid is an Interpol agent a third my age. Loneliness is making me delusional.

“What about Shih-na?” I haven’t actually seen the mare that runs with Lang’s herd, but I’ve heard she’s not bad looking.

“My subordinate?" Lang waves a hand dismissively. "It would be inappropriate. Perhaps American officers are satisfied with distraction and incompetence, but I hold myself to higher standards.” He scoffs. “Lang Zi says--”

“The worm in the pond has many friends, the wolf on the mountaintop stands alone?” I finish. Watching Lang stutter in the middle of a smug rant is almost satisfying.

“It translates better as puddle, but…you’ve read Lang Zi?”

“Some.”

“Ah!” Lang’s pleased, as if he’s finally found the answer to why I outshine the rest of the department, and I quickly cut him down.

“Didn’t think much of him.”

“Wh-what? How dare you insult the greatest philosopher of all time!” If I had any chance before it’s dead now. He looks as if he’s about to deck me.

I shrug it off. “He spends too much time talking about hunts and punishments for my taste.” Also he uses way too many confusing metaphors. The footnotes in the book I had were almost as long as the text itself.

“What else is there for a detective to talk about?” Lang bursts out.

“The innocent.” And when Lang keeps giving me that scornful scowl I wonder if the concept of ‘innocence’ even exists in his world. We square off, glaring at each other over five feet of parking lot. Finally I break the tension and take a drink, a harsh shot thrown back like a blow. The bite and the ache settles me. There’s no point arguing with Lang, his method gets things done. And he’s young. Either he’ll learn to bend like me or he’ll snap within the decade.

“One left.” I offer the little tin flask to Lang once more. He looks to it, to me, to the parking lot as if to make sure his loyal men aren’t hiding in the bushes, and takes it quickly from myhands. The sip’s barely enough to get his lips wet, and Lang winces when it hits his tongue. I watch him tilt his head and ponder, tongue flicking out to catch any stray drops.

“Detective Badd?” he asks.

“Hm?”

“Does everyone in this country make their lemonade so horrifically sweet?”


End file.
